Wednesday, December 12, 2018

There had been some kind of work conference, a discussion of new technologies, in an open space on an airport mezzanine. Suddenly we were outside, and the space we’d occupied was now two large, old cars. I observed the action outside the airport, the crowds bustling by wheeling their luggage, buses and taxis driving the maze of approach roads. I noticed two workers carrying something long across a crosswalk. The light had turned and they were rushing to get to the other side before the cars came. They were too slow. A pickup truck veered towards one of them, angrily, as though to punish them. It hit one worker. The occupants, two or three men, climbed out and attacked the man who’d been hit. They chased him along the sidewalk and got him on the ground. One attacker brandished a stick. I was among several people making a video of the scene with my phone. I felt ashamed, and suddenly realized I should call 911. A woman answered and put me on hold. Music played. She finally transferred me to a number that didn’t pick up. The line went dead. I tried again, got disconnected again. I tried again, same thing. By now the fight was taking place inside one of our two cars. The victim was cornered in the back seat and his aggressor was beating him with the stick. Finally two muscle-bound cops wearing black tunics arrived to sort things out.